On the Shadows and Light in my Life

A Reflection on Surviving Early Childhood Trauma

Photo by Ross Sneddon on Unsplash

The world did not reveal itself to me in a blaze of sunlight but in the dim hush of rooms where secrets nestled like dust bunnies beneath old furniture. My first memories are soft and blurred—the comfort of my mother’s arms, a hammock of warmth and worry; my father’s hesitant smile, like the first light of dawn; the swirling, kaleidoscopic presence of adults who drifted in and out of my life like phantoms in a half-remembered dream. These were the threads that wove the chaotic tapestry of my childhood, dyed in muted hues of unspoken anxieties. I did not yet have the language to name the dissonance I felt, but it pulsed beneath the surface of everything—a quiet, persistent hum that cast long shadows over my earliest years.